


Inaction & Influence

by WhatsernameAnyways



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsernameAnyways/pseuds/WhatsernameAnyways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The importance of a single event in a life can be easily dismissed. Sometimes the significance of its impact can be seen only in the finer details. </p><p>Sometimes it changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Inaction

    There is a bitter perfume that hangs upon the cold springtime breeze, the babble from the crowded plaza below turns to meaningless static as it reaches my ears. The year is 2163. I am a mere 16 years old. A fledgling assassin still attempting to make a name for myself amongst my peers. It is a task I have been managing to perform exceedingly well. When given a task I perform it as instructed, and it has seen me well on my way through the ranks. My name and image stand out when presented to our masters. I intend to keep it that way.

    There is much riding on this contract, and though I am nervous I do my best not to show it. I am well aware of how to perform my job, I have the utmost confidence in my abilities. Now all that remains is to carry out the deed. But still I cannot cease the subtle shaking of my hands.

    The target is not aware he has been marked for death by the Primacy, but there are many innocents present. An infinite amount of variables, all unknown. An endless list of things that could go wrong, none of which I can afford.

    My partner alerts me to the presence of our target across the plaza, and I settle in to a firing stance as I shoulder my rifle. It takes only a moment to aim, a single controlled breath to steady myself. My targeting laser dances a brief pattern of impending death across his skull. The opportunity is perfect, best to take it while it presents itself.

    When I pull the trigger, I do not miss. The bullet makes its mark without issue.

    The screams of bystanders do little to perturb me as I watch their panicking through my scope during the brief hesitation needed to confirm my kill. A younger woman who had the unfortunate luck to be standing within arm’s reach of the target, her bright blue scales now spattered in blood and golden eyes widened with fear, catches my eye for only a moment. But only a moment. She will surely recover from the resultant psychological trauma given time. She was unharmed, my kill was clean and precise.

    I will never see that particular woman again, and her existence all but dissipates from my mind as I lower my rifle. All involved, willingly or not, will move on from this day eventually, despite that our kind are physically incapable of forgetting it. Her image becomes nothing more than another memory to be catalogued amongst all the rest.

    I collapse my rifle and am on my way, back to the care and praise of my masters for another contract well-completed. It is a familiar routine I know well by now. I always complete my contracts and make habit carry them out precisely as instructed. Quick, clean. Efficient. Minimal loss of innocent life if it can be done. I never take a life besides that of my target. I do well for myself in keeping to this largely unspoken code, and in the years that follow I find myself trusted with increasingly critical and sensitive tasks. Often more complicated, and dangerous even on occasion.

    I never leave a contract uncompleted, no matter the stakes. I do not walk away from each entirely unscathed, but my life remains intact despite odds often not in my favour. Some of my cohorts are not quite so lucky. Our ranks thin over time, old familiar faces friends replaced by the fresh visages of newer recruits. Such loss wears on even the most enduring.

    Still I remain with the Compact as the years pass, even as friends and comrades take their leave for other endeavours. Some seeking to pursue families, others fortune and future. I see no reason why I should attempt to follow their example. The Compact is all I have ever known, and my skills are appreciated within its confines.  As such they are my only skills. Even as I age, I am still the best; the one called to handle the most sensitive of issues. I would not have it any other way.

    I take on additional, new responsibilities as well. I am not immortal, and I am becoming increasingly aware of that fact with the passage of time. Service has taken its toll on my body and there will be a need one day for my place to be filled too, just as all others who have come before me.

   The responsibility to train the new recruits eventually falls to my hand, and it is an assignment I take on with great enthusiasm. It was not so long ago that I was all too like them. Young and apprehensive, but so full of promise. Potential incarnate in mortal form. Perhaps I can bring them what little comfort I can offer them as I guide their hands to become as mine.

    The year is 2186. I have taken the opportunity to lead my students in a practice outside the dome of our city. We are suddenly covered in shadow as though a cloud has blotted out the sun. It is always overcast on Kahje. One of my protégés lets out an uncharacteristic scream, pointing an accusatory finger to the sky. I suddenly find myself part of a war I had only heard rumors would arrive.

    Survival is an uncertain outcome.


	2. II. Influence

    It is 2163, and this is the most important contract I’ve been assigned to in my short career as an assassin. I made my first kill nearly four years ago, but this is the first chance I’ve been given to actually prove myself. The target is dangerous, and much stands to be lost if he is not taken down at first opportunity.

    I’ve been assigned a partner to cooperate with, but that means little to me. This is my contract, my job which I must complete if I wish to progress, to rise above my peers and ever into the notice of our masters. I cannot afford for anything to go wrong. I cannot afford failure on this day.

    My rifle has been checked more times than I can count even with perfect memory; any attempt and they all seem to string together in a continuous loop. It’s more times than even the dire circumstance of expectation in this situation warrants, of that much I am certain, but I feel a burning need to keep my hands busy. The pungent scent of incense wafts to me from a nearby balcony and it calms my nerves, bids my fingers to cease their fidgeting and my hands to stop their shaking.

    My radio crackles to life and through the static my partner tips me off to our target’s presence. I raise my rifle, settle into my curled stance to peer through the scope. Certain enough, my partner speaks the truth and with a deft flick of fingers I switch on my targeting laser. Best to take care of the situation as quickly as possible, before opportunity passes.

    I pull the trigger with no hesitation. My purpose does not falter for a single moment, not even at the eyes that suddenly dart into the line of my scope. Bright irises the color of honey and sunlight. The bullet has enough force to make its way to my target, even though the resistance presented by this would-be Samaritan.

    One innocent life was more than a fair trade to protect the lives of countless others. My contract is completed, and the end justifies the means by far. Or at least so I believe. My masters disagree, but it was only a single unnecessary casualty. They make their disapproval known, but are not overly critical of what they deem a ‘mistake.’ I do not see the flaw in my performance, neither do many of my peers. Minimal loss of life far outweighed the potential consequences should the target have escaped, did it not?

    In the opinion of my masters, indeed it did not. Repeated ‘reckless’ behaviour as they termed it. Too much innocent blood shed in the name of completing the mission. I soon saw myself dismissed from their service. ‘Retirement,’ but not of my own volition. I did not understand, I had done only as I was told. I was the best of my peers, the quickest to the neutralization of my target nearly every time. I never missed.

    Apparently perfection and efficiency with minimal casualty could be deemed unsatisfactory in the Primacy’s eyes, but there were surely others that would appreciate my talents for what they truly were.

    There is one bid amongst the rest that stands apart, clearly distinguishes itself from the rest. Compensation that far surpasses any of the other offers that make their way to me. The finest equipment supplied and complete freedom of how I choose to carry out my missions once they have been given, on the condition that they are indeed completed. I would be a fool if I did not accept. I never meet my employer face to face, but he makes good on his word. Far more than simply good. I have no room for complaint.

    It is 2183 and I am sent to Omega by my employer, assigned to oversee a transaction of utmost importance. ‘Insurance’ is what he refers to my role in the process as. It is not an entirely inaccurate assessment, and it proves to be a wise decision on his part.

    The betrayal comes from one of our own, one of my own kind as irony would have it. Our employer does not take to traitorous behaviour kindly; it would be reckless to overlook. Failure to dole out appropriate punishment could be seen as condoning his actions, could sow the first seeds of far-off rebellion. Best to be done with it now.

    He should have known better. I tell him as much before I put a bullet in his brain. There is no hesitation as I turn to execute his accomplice. An asari, young if her wide blue eyes were to be taken as any indicator. Some would categorize her as an ‘innocent.’ I make no such mistake. Her appearance does not fool me. Behind the show of innocence I can see her stubbornness. She would make another attempt to disrupt my employer’s business if allowed to live. She cannot.

    A second gunshot and the deed is done, for now. The dark-haired human woman will meet her end later. She and the organization she represents have become something of an issue, one that will have to be rectified.

    Nearly two years pass. It is late 2185 before any of us realize the gravity of the mistake that had been made that day.

    Hope has become the most foreign of definitions.


End file.
